He laughed again, and flung his arms above his head with a wild gesture of despair.
“You say this to me—you! you! It only wanted this. My God, this is too much!”
He turned from her and sprang away in the darkness. She heard his steps as he dashed recklessly up the cliff path—so recklessly that she half expected to hear the sound of a slip and a fall—and then as he reached the summit and turned inland, they died away into silence.
Monica drew a long breath of relief when she found herself alone. There was something expressibly awful in talking alone to a madman in the dimness of the dying day, in hearing his wild words addressed to some phantom shadow seen only by his disordered vision. She shivered a little as she turned towards him. She could stay no longer in that lonely place.
She met Tom looking out for her on her return. He said something about her staying out too long in the darkness. She laid her hand upon his arm, and pacing up and down the dark avenue, she told him of her adventure with the madman.
“Tom, I am certain he ought to see a doctor. Will you not see if you can do something for him?”
She could not see the expression of Tom’s face. Had she been able to do so, she would have been startled. His voice was very cold as he answered:
“I am not a lunacy commissioner, Monica.”
She was surprised, and a little hurt.